


myeongok (a dream-song) 4: London, 2016/17

by forochel



Series: chun/myeon/gok [8]
Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Modern Royalty, Mutual Pining, Noble Stupidity, That Fucking Edict, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel
Summary: A year like a dream._prequel to bysine'schunmyeongok, inspired entirely by this one line:Younghyun spoke of London very little but always with an odd look on his face, like he was holding back a lot of feelings.'
Relationships: Kang Younghyun | Young K/Kim Wonpil
Series: chun/myeon/gok [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936813
Comments: 25
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

Boundless by the time I cried  
I built your walls around me  
[mystery of love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOdbUhAwGcA); sufjan stevens

In Chuncheon, sweating in his fine silk robes, Dowoon turned to Younghyun under an umbrella after contemplating the long broad sweep of the Han river, ramparted on both banks by high, grey cliffs.

"I wish Wonpilie-hyung could see this too," he said.

Younghyun opened his mouth, found himself speechless.

Silvery fish flashed by in the swiftly running water a few feet away from them. Like time passing.

Next to him, Dowoon sighed and echoed Younghyun's own thoughts, low and mumbled, "It will all go by so fast."

*

Some time later, Younghyun sat down in a spartan meeting room with (Acting) Captains Song and Choi. Functional furniture only, for the Guards.

He should have seen it coming — or maybe he had, but then promptly decided to ignore the signals, because —

At the tail end of that long spring in London, Captain Choi had eyed him over his omnipresent clipboard. "Well, Kang, are you going to do a Master's too?"

Younghyun would be mad to. He had shaken his head, said, "No, sir."

After which Captain Choi had handed Younghyun a tablet and a briefing folder, said, "Great, then let's have you take on more coordination responsibilities for the next few weeks and through summer."

Which brought them to this point.

"You're ... not coming back to London with us?" asked Younghyun, doing his best not to sound lost or young. He was twenty- _four_ , goddamnit.

The look of relief on Captain Choi's face was almost insulting. "No," he said, "I'm returning to the Marines. Cleared for full active duty."

"Right." Younghyun paused, swallowed hard. "Um. Congratulations, Captain."

"And to you too, Lieutenant."

"So ..." Younghyun looked at Acting Captain Song. "Would it be presumptuous for me to conclude that —"

"You're in charge," said Acting Captain Song, who for some reason was very into the _Acting_ part of her title, " _horangi-yah_."

Younghyun winced reflexively. She grinned at him. It was the grin of someone who'd witnessed the restrained freak-out amongst the Guards when he'd broken his collarbone as a teenager during a training exercise. Out of the corner of his eye, Younghyun saw Captain Choi mouth _horangi-yah_ to himself silently and suppress a smile. _Younghyun_ suppressed a sigh, for his own part.

"Understood. Is this my briefing session, then?"

Acting Captain Song grinned horribly at him.

"Yes," she said with much more cheer than was warranted, "your _first_ one."

*

When they returned to London, Younghyun put his head down and got on with things for the first few weeks until it was time for him to file his first monthly report. Wonpil had come across him in the kitchen staring at his laptop, which contained _everyone else's reports_ , in blank panic and swiftly intervened.

Now they were sat in the gated garden under the turning leaves drinking hot chocolate from the vendor who always set her cart up around the corner on weekends once autumn proper arrived. Five children dressed in brightly coloured jumpers were kicking a ball about and screaming on the other end of the garden.

The thing was. The thing was, all was so weirdly _normal_. It was a normal Saturday morning; Dowoon was under guard at a group project meeting; and Younghyun summarily banished by royal command because _I was there when Captain Choi told you it was important to take your breaks_.

So here Younghyun was, taking a break, he supposed. He heaved a sigh, breaking the half-comfortable silence that had settled in after Wonpil had pulled him down onto the bench.

"Isn't this what you've been aiming for?" Wonpil asked, curiously honest as he always was. With that air of naivete that came not of idiocy but some inexplicable font of optimism re: the world.

Younghyun shook his head. "I only wanted to protect — to be there for Dowoonie. I never really thought about what would come next, once I became a Guard."

Wonpil lifted his cup to his mouth, but his eyes were keen over the lip even as he drank. Younghyun shifted his weight, bouncing a little in place.

"Well, that sounds boring." Wonpil shook his head, correcting himself. "No; not boring. Just... stagnant? You'd get bored without something new to do next."

"Would I?" Younghyun huffed out an airless laugh. "I don't know. I'm quite fundamentally lazy, all things considered." He paused, but the expected scoff didn't come; Wonpil was only looking at him with that sympathetic, clear-eyed gaze, chin cupped in one mittened hand, elbow propped up on a crossed knee.

"Being a sleepyhead by nature," Wonpil said at last, half a smile pulling his mouth to the side, "doesn't make you lazy. Lazy people don't just put their head down and get through some absolutely mad work-study programme. You haven't ever given up, have you?"

Feeling his face warm, Younghyun looked away and scuffed the heels of his boots against the dirt. "I suppose — I don't know. I made my choice, didn't I? I did swear an oath." He winced immediately — he hadn't meant to remind Wonpil of —

"You did," Wonpil agreed, cutting his mental spiral off. "So? People break their promises all the time, so ..." he trailed off.

When Younghyun looked back up at him, Wonpil's face was still in contemplation, the cold sharp planes of his face softened by the way his mouth was set in a half-pout as he thought. Stray curls overgrown half-obscured his eyes, were tossed about as a passing breeze flirted through them. Some great swelling of feeling washed through Younghyun.

"I think sometimes you know me better than me," Younghyun found himself saying.

Wonpil blinked, the distance in his eyes closing as he focused back on Younghyun. Then he smiled, small and pretty. "Maybe. And you're awful at taking a compliment."

"So are _you_."

Laughing into his hot chocolate, Wonpil's eyes crinkled as he hiccuped giggles. "See? That's exactly what I mean!"

Younghyun shook his head. "In _any_ case, it wouldn't be honourable." He looked down at his mocha, rapidly congealing in the bottom of his paper cup. "Especially given ... it would be very bad for me especially, if I failed to ... if I failed. In any way. Me and my family."

Wonpil was quiet again. Then he shuffled closer on the bench to press close, warm and comfortably squishy in his quilted duffel coat. "Is that what it is? That's making all this so hard?"

He felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. To call Wonpil clear-eyed was one thing, but to experience his empathy in direct action was another.

"Sort of. I can't ... I can't untangle it. There's so much at stake, Wonpil-ah. Dowoon's life _alone_."

Wonpil was also looking at the pebbles ground into the dark dirt underneath their boots. He nodded and hummed encouragingly.

"And I just feel — isn't this too soon? I can't — I mean. I'll do my best for my job, whatever it is, but —"

"Well, there's a captain in Busan, isn't there?" Wonpil said sensibly. "The one who sent you here."

"I mean, yes —"

"And he's not about to just disappear the moment you get back, is he?"

"No..."

" _And_ you have all the sergeants and Corporal Yang and the lovely embassy agents to help you, don't you?"

Younghyun turned to Wonpil, who was now staring at the kids trying to get their ball out of the bushes. "Wonpil-ah, I get your point. Stop asking me leading questions."

Wonpil laughed and glanced back at him. "Good. _And_ I have faith in your ability to keep my adorable baby cousin alive, so have faith in my faith in you."

Despite everything — the lingering uncertainty, the dread that accompanied the weight of responsibility, the anxiety he still felt about his legitimacy as a Guard — Younghyun felt like he could breathe easier, for at least a little while.

"All right." He swirled the dregs of his cold coffee and downed it, grimacing. "Okay. Thank you, Wonpilie."

Wonpil stayed sitting a while longer while Younghyun stood up and stretched. When Younghyun let his arms and chin drop, he found himself caught in Wonpil's bright gaze, in the way Wonpil's eyes curved as he smiled warmly and reached out to tug at the bottom of Younghyun's jacket.

"Any time," he told Younghyun, "hyung."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post Year 4 all as a one shot but honestly it's been very hard to get the words out, so I thought maybe if I posted it in bits ... er, I would be more pressured to write?? anyway listen to shinee's new album bc *screams into hands, lying in pool of pearl aqua tears* shinee's back ;__________;
> 
> oh uh also i guess here is [the pub tweet](https://twitter.com/forochel/status/1365513891313307648)?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuseok, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you remember what happened during Chuseok in London 3?
> 
> TRICK QUESTION: I 100% forgot what happened and that I didn't write a Chuseok chapter for LDN3.

"No, hyung! Don't look!" Wonpil fairly threw himself into Younghyun's lap in an attempt to cover the photobook that Dowoon had passed over to him. Younghyun peeled Wonpil off himself and the scrapbook, pushing him back onto his patch of floor.

"I regret everything." Wonpil pushed his face into his knees and drew his hood over his head. "Everything. Should've just abandoned you to rot in London."

"Oh, the drama." Yeeun-noona laughed and nudged him with her toe.

Objectively, it was a terrible haircut.

Subjectively, it was adorable.

Teenaged Wonpil trying to look punk was hilariously adorable.

"It isn't that bad," said Younghyun, smile ticking up a corner of his mouth.

Wonpil muttered something inaudibly. Dowoon made a sound that could only be described as a coo as he flipped a page.

"Hyung, you were so CUTE!" Dowoon tugged at Younghyun's arm. "Look at hyung! Look!"

"I hate everything," Wonpil announced, emerging from his knees.

"Aigoo, Wonpil-ah, you were a very cute baby, be proud," said his maternal grandmother, who'd been fetched from New Malden earlier in the morning, and pat him on the head.

Almost the whole Kim (nee Yoon) clan had gathered in Reading for Chuseok, but for Prince Buyeong and Poet Oh. They had decided to make the trek to Patagonia, much to everyone's distress, including the improbable Patagonian relations. Y Wladfa was very much not prepared for members of the Corean royal family to descend upon it.

"Very fat." Uncle Junghoon nodded with some satisfaction, as he was passing by the living room, shopping bags in his hands. "Lots of fortune and luck."

"Oh," said Younghyun, who'd finally looked away from Wonpil's teenaged fauxhawk phase to the baby photos, and felt his entire self viscerally squeeze. "Wow. _Wow._ "

Wonpil let out a whine and fell into his side, nose digging into his arm. " _Hyuuung_ , stop."

"I can't." Younghyun reached out to turn the page, eager for more. "You were _so cute_."

"Hyung loves babies," Dowoon explained to everyone else in the living room; they had never witnessed Younghyun vibrate in place whilst a loyal subject presented Dowoon with a round, squishy toddler to kiss.

Wonpl whined some more and tried pulling him away.

"Or" — Younghyun looked away long enough to flick his reddening ear and tease — "I could go back to looking at your middle school photos."

Wonpil dropped his hands from Younghyun's arm and snatched the middle school photobook away instead. Laughing under his breath, Younghyun went back to the book labelled _1996-7_.

It was only when Younghyun looked up to crack his neck that he caught how Yeeun-noona's eyebrows had drawn together.

"Ah." He tensed. He had forgotten himself. "Apologies, gongju-mama —"

"Oh god, not that." Yeeun interrupted. She gave him a half-amused look he couldn't read. "In case you haven't noticed, we don't stand much on formality here. It's mum's years in that anarchic collective, or whatever they called themselves."

"And now my daughter argues in court on the behalf of rich people," lamented Auntie Hyeyi, who'd come in to take a break from cooking. "Where did we go so wrong?"

"You know that's not how it works, _eomma_."

But now he was all too aware of this chink in the friendly guest-facing walls. Younghyun couldn't help noticing the long looks directed at Wonpil by his elders: soaked with loving worry, sweet and tart like plum vinegar.

These looks burnt like antiseptic, even if nobody said anything to him. How could they not, when they appeared whenever Wonpil did things that Younghyun had been saving up like drops of water. So innocuous were these precious, unthinking things: leaning into Younghyun's side; the sweet crinkle of Wonpil's eyes when he laughed and smacked Younghyun happily; the briefest press of his fingers against Younghyun's inner elbow to get his attention or emphasise a joke.

When Younghyun had walked back into the Belgravia House in September and had a bare second to brace himself to catch Wonpil's enthusiastic flying hug, he'd told himself: live in the moment; take what you can have; no more. But living for _this_ particular thing just became much less easy to sink into with the guilt clawing up his spine.

So Younghyun busied himself with helping out. There was never an end to chores that needed handling during Chuseok, in any case. Auntie Hyeyi was not so hidebound by tradition as to try and do everything herself. He extracted himself from the photobook spelunking and went to the kitchen, where there were any number of things to clean and slice and heavy claypots to retrieve from lower cabinets. Folding tables to retrieve from the attic and wipe down.

"You're our guest, Younghyun-ah," Uncle Junghoon had protested, when he'd first gone into the kitchen to offer his services.

Younghyun had shaken his head, smiling politely. "I'm not used to being so idle. And I'm happy to help."

Uncle Junghoon had peered at him through his glasses, and then shrugged, said something about swapping children, and put him to work.

So work Younghyun did, with the Kim children occasionally drafted as helping hands, Wonpil giving him confused looks over the tables and then across the table they were sitting on the opposite sides of during dinner.

"What are you doing?" Wonpil asked quietly after dinner, catching him by the forearm.

Such strange déjà vu: the both of them alone in the kitchen, boisterous laughter from the living room. Younghyun, so preoccupied with his thoughts and making sure the stack of dishes he was carrying didn't fall, hadn't noticed Wonpil following him in.

Despite knowing better, Younghyun said, "Helping with the washing up," and shoved his sleeves up to his elbows.

"Hyung." Wonpil sounded unhappy. He looked it too; that complicated sad face from the hospital in second year had resurfaced. But then he shook his head and plucked a pair of green rubber gloves from the rod screwed to the backsplash tiles. "Put these on if you're going to do the dishes."

Wonpil seemed determined to — to demonstrate the futility of Younghyun's attempts at putting enough distance between them to assuage his family's worries, because he started folding Younghyun's sleeves up while Younghyun was pulling the gloves on.

Arrested mid-tug, Younghyun stared. From this angle, he could see only the fall of Wonpil's fringe over his eyes, the sweet slope and upturned tip of his nose, the stillness of Wonpil's face as he concentrated.

"There, now they'll stay in place." Wonpil pressed the thick layers of hoodie sleeve firmly against the soft inside of Younghyun's elbow, and looked up at last, smiling a little uncertainly.

"...thank you, Wonpil-ah." Younghyun snapped the glove fully on.

"Yah, Pirimiri," said Wonpil's terrifying noona from behind them, "help me pack the leftovers. And bring a towel for the tables."

Natural as anything, unlike Younghyun, who'd stiffened up despite himself, Wonpil turned away. "Oh my god, have you left Dowoonie all alone with the adults?"

"Dowoonie's been alone with adults almost all his life," said Yeeun-noona accurately but also devastatingly. "I think he'll survive for five minutes."

"Not _our_ adults." Wonpil stretched past Younghyun, waist pressing against Younghyun's arm as he leaned into it for balance, reaching for the damp towel on the other side of the sink. "Ok, I'll go."

Still robbed of words, Younghyun watched him go. Yeeun-noona turned to follow him once he brushed past her, but not before raising her eyebrows at Younghyun.

Younghyun turned hastily back to the sink.

"Oh, Jack —" Wonpil sounded startled "— thanks, I'll just take these — oh, or not? There can't be bloody more — oh. Really? God. Okay."

There was an indistinct murmur in Yeeun noona's voice as Jack ducked into the kitchen with a trayful of eating plates and chopsticks stacked in the galbijim pot.

Then Wonpil again: "No, noona, I _know_ , stop reminding — everyone just stop."

Whatever Yeeun noona said in response to him was inaudible as the siblings got further away from the kitchen.

"She's something, isn't she," said Jack with cheery sympathy as he started clearing the dishrack of the frying pans and bowls that had been used in preparation for dinner. "You wash, I rinse?"

Grateful for his even-tempered, entirely unshaken presence, Younghyun nodded.

"Can't say I've ever expected to be semi-regularly sitting to dinner with a king," Jack said after a peaceable lull of efficient washing. Jack had put the radio on, turned it to some channel that seemed to solely play British alt-rock. Younghyun had sung along a little. "Even after the nervewracking experience of meeting their grandfather. Have you met the old man one on one?"

Younghyun snorted before he could help himself.

"Oh, right, yeah, Yeeun told me about it. Bit of a two-for-one with you and, um, Dowoon, yeah?"

Younghyun couldn't help but snort. "Yeah."

"And how do you like it?"

Younghyun paused and turned this over in his mind. Nobody had ever asked him this before. Like had never really come into the equation, not ever since his parents had talked with him before he'd joined the Guards.

Everyone else had known better, maybe, or never dared to ask.

But Jack occupied this strange liminal space between hyung-like figure and friendly stranger. Someone to whom all this was so alien, further removed from this than Wonpil, who had after all grown up with his grandfather; than Jinyoung, who was Corean by descent; than Sungjin-hyung and Jae, who were both Corean by upbringing. And yet Jack was also closer, so much closer than Younghyun himself. Because Jack had fallen in love with a girl playing a flute and, in the intervening years, had self-evidently become part of the madcap Kim (née Yoon) family.

"I ..." Younghyun scrubbed hard a stubborn saucey spot that had dried up on a plate.

Laughing a little ruefully, Jack rinsed off a rectangular serving dish that had contained the _gyeran-mari_ (which Wonpil had fully polished off a third of) and leaned his hip against the counter. "That's not the right sort of question to ask, is it."

"No, no," Younghyun demurred. "There's no right or wrong. It's just a new question. I ... I think ... I have found things to like about this life." He looked up at Jack. "I chose it, you know. It's not like ... I don't know. I don't know what people outside think."

Stork-like, Jack tilted his head in contemplation. "I think choices don't happen in a vacuum." He smiled briefly and took the plate from Younghyun's hands. "You just decide that the circumstances surrounding a decision are worth it."

Exhaling hard, Younghyun turned his focus back to the mountain of dishes in the sink. "Yes. It ... it has been."

"Well, there you have it, then." Jack hummed along with the instrumental bridge of an almost cheery song.

Younghyun thought perhaps that might be the end of that. Wonpil and his noona had yet to come back, probably trapped into conversation with their grandparents. It was nice, like this, nodding along to the driving steady drums buzzing out of the radio and sinking into the repetitive motions of soaping up dishes, scrubbing them, handing them over to Jack, who was some sort of dish-stacking wizard.

But just as Younghyun was starting in on the last few dishes, the large pots that had held the rice and galbijim and radish soup, Jack said, "And when circumstances change, you know. You're allowed to make new decisions. Change your mind."

Younghyun almost dropped what was probably an heirloom clay lid.

"Is that you talking," he said, sharp with shock and the receding panic of almost breaking something irreplaceable, "or Yeeun-noona?"

"I know she has a strong personality," said Jack mildly, "but I'm not exactly dishwater, you know."

Younghyun flushed. "Sorry. It's just —"

"Just something to think about." Jack shook his head and went over to start scrubbing the gas range. "And weigh up against, you know, everything else I don't know about."

"... Yeah." Younghyun started scrubbing at a saucepan. "Jack, uh, hyung?"

"Hyung?" Jack laughed a little. " _Wonpil_ only calls me that when he wants a present. But what were you going to say?"

Younghyun smiled briefly. "What happens when ... the old circumstances are still there, under the new ones?"

There was a long pause, and then Jack put down the sponge in his hand. "That's a difficult one, isn't it?"

Sighing, Younghyun rinsed out the saucepan and put it in the other sink. "Yeah."

"I don't know, mate, I'm sorry." Jack went back to cleaning the range. "You really are good people, though, aren't you?"

Too tired to demur, Younghyun said, "I try."

They lapsed into another working silence, deepened by their mutual understanding, until Wonpil came harriedly in to herd them back to the living room for dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote much of this chapter -- the key exchanges, emotional points, Jack coming into his own as a character ... in JUNE 2020. this, my dear readers, is how chaotically I have been writing this series. timey wimey. (and the only reason I know I wrote it then is bc of the gdoc comments from bysine, the pa to my jeon, roll to my omelette, etc etc.)
> 
> if this chapter made you feel a ling (which I sure hope it did), please leave a comment! let me know! thank you! (+ [publicity tweet](https://twitter.com/forochel/status/1367682756285788162?s=20))


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEAWEED SOUP & FRIENDS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stuffs as many RL/canonical references into this soap opera as possible*

If Younghyun had thought no longer juggling a degree and his job would make him less busy, well — the Younghyun of seven months ago had no idea how much _work_ fucking bureaucracy was. No wonder Captain Song so determinedly wanted to remain _Acting_. No wonder Captain Choi was so happy about returning to leaping out of helicopters and bumping cold and wet on rubber rafts and dealing with normal military politics.

"What the fuck," he muttered to himself in the wake of the latest conference briefing with Lady Ko, who headed the Palace's Public Engagement Office, "is that woman's _problem_."

Sergeant Yoon snickered the snicker of someone who likely never had to deal directly with the higher-ups in the Public Engagement Office.

"A _boat party_." Younghyun looked despairingly up at the good sergeant. "They've never really cared about pyeha networking before, why now? And it's not even our boat!"

"I'm sure you'll work something out, Lieutenant," said Sergeant Yoon in the way that meant _he_ already had some idea of what could be done, but wasn't about to let Younghyun get away with it. Not that Younghyun wanted to.

In any case, being busy with stupid boat parties and routine work and securing Dowoon's various appearances — not that he had the time for very many (other than stupid boat parties thrown by the heirs to one of UAEs) — meant that before Younghyun knew it he was waking up on the morning of his twenty-third birthday, a solid hour after his usual alarm.

Younghyun lay in bed and stretched out across it, stayed starfished while he stared at the ceiling and remembered, with a faint pang of fondness, the birthday surprise from two years ago. He wondered if the cousins would burst in again with a picnic in hand, and whether or not he should put a hoodie on in preparation. And then he thought about Wonpil blushing and the long, sweet day they'd spent together, and had to roll over to bury his face in his pillow.

Younghyun made his way downstairs eventually, after a bracing shower and cleaning his teeth, thinking vague thoughts about leftovers for breakfast when his senses caught up to him.

A rich, briney smell, the clattering of dishes, voices floating up from the stairs. More than two voices — they had company over. And then someone shouted with laughter. Younghyun laughed and shook his head. If his friends had been planning on a surprise, they had to work on their stealth a little better.

He was careful not to make any noise as he eased the door leading downstairs into the basement kitchen wider open and slipped through it, padding down the stairs.

But it all came to naught anyway, because Wonpil was standing directly facing the door. He was presiding over a large ceramic pot that was steaming on the long wooden table in the kitchen, face screwed up the way it got when he was being teased and trying not to show how upset he was. Even if Wonpil didn't say anything when he caught sight of Younghyun, the way his scowl broke open into a beam, honeyed warmth like sunshine on a warm spring day, would have given Younghyun's entrance away.

"Younghyun-hyung!" cried Wonpil, hands clasped together before him. "Happy birthday!"

"It might be your last one," intoned Jae, who happened to be in town for a winter solstice showcase, at the behest of the embassy. He was becoming something of a pansori superstar. "So you may as well make the most of it."

Wonpil slapped him on the arm. "Don't be an arse, Jae."

"Hey, I'm just saying! Your soup is —"

"Soup?" asked Younghyun, advancing upon the table. He looked down. He blinked hard.

Quietly, Wonpil said, "It's miyeokguk — eomma walked me through it. Sort of."

Younghyun stared at the giant pot of seaweed soup, of a deeper brown hue than he was used to. There was the seaweed, fat, glistening pieces of it inexpertly cut and a startling deep green against the cloudy broth, in which bobbed equally inexpertly cut slices of beef brisket, barely visible. But it smelt good anyway, sort of like ramyeon soup, and — and _Wonpil_ had _made this_. For _Younghyun_. His heart clenched violently in him.

"I think you broke him," he heard Sungjin say as though from a very far distance. "And he hasn't even had a drop of this thing you call soup yet."

"Should Dowoon's personal guard be this easily broken?" asked Jae, also sounding as though he were talking through water.

"Hyung is only glitching," contributed Dowoon in what he probably thought was a reassuring manner.

"I'm not broken or glitching," Younghyun managed to say. "I'm just surprised. That the kitchen hasn't burnt down." He gave Wonpil a smile to soften the teasing.

"Oh ye of little faith!" cried Wonpil, but he was smiling back. "Try some, come on. Or — or you don't have to."

There was a great storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm Younghyun.

"Of course I have to," Younghyun managed at last. He sat down and looked expectantly up at Wonpil. "I'm hungry, Wonpil-ah. I want my birthday miyeokguk."

"You're the only one," muttered Sungjin, who really needed to learn what sotto voce meant.

"You don't have to be here," said Wonpil to Sungjin, even as he was ladelling out a bowl of soup.

"If I weren't here that would be totally inedible," said Sungjin, who probably wasn't wrong. He was also presiding over a covered claypot, probably containing rice. "I'll have some soup, though."

"Dowoonie?"

Dowoon, who had been gnawing on an apple the entire time, nodded. "Sure."

"I like it," said Younghyun to Jae, having just tried a few spoons. "It's really not that bad — I mean!" He looked hastily at Wonpil, who was fishing out extra slices of beef for Dowoon. "It's good."

Jae looked at the soup and crossed his arms. "My body is a temple," he said. "No. Where's the jjigae you guys always have in the freezer?"

"Oh, come on, Jaehyung-ah. I've made lots of rice," said Sungjin, waving the rice paddle significantly.

"Good." Younghyun passed him a bowl. "Give me lots."

The usual sort of silence fell over the kitchen when everyone (including Jae) finally sat down with their bowls of soup and rice. Younghyun rather thought Wonpil's soup grew on you, the more you tasted it. The brisket was tender, he'd clearly gone to pains to skim off any scum from the broth as it simmered, and the savoury intensity went well with rice.

"How much is there left?" asked Jae, breaking the silence. Or taking a break from desecrating the temple of his body.

Next to Younghyun, Wonpil stretched up from his seat to peer into the pot. "Lots", was his conclusion.

"I added more water," Sungjin explained. "So much water."

Sitting back down, Wonpil pouted into his bowl.

"It's okay, Wonpilie-hyung, honestly," said Dowoon, which was the ultimate kindness, for a man chiefly used to professional cooks of the Corean Embassy and/or the Gyeongbokgung. And the three things Younghyun knew how to cook.

"It's unique. Once in a lifetime," Wonpil said archly, tapping the stockpot. Then he paused, face falling minutely.

Jae glanced between them, mouth scrunching to the side.

"Hey, what about _us_ ," he said.

"Oh god," said Sungjin, catching on — Younghyun felt abruptly grateful to everyone in this kitchen, and a little moved to think of how they had all improbably managed to come together anyway — "Are you trying to curse us, Jaehyung-ah?"

"Nope! Nope, nope nope." Wonpil shook his head, recovering. Younghyun sometimes wanted to shake him, to shake the cheer out of him and — but he knew what lay underneath, intimately so, and thought that would be the greater cruelty. "Absolutely not, this is a one time offer."

Sungjin sighed with exaggerated relief and peered into the pot. "Well, there's more if anyone wants to capitalise on this special one time opportunity."

"We'll add tteok tomorrow," said Dowoon, "and more water. That should work, right?"

"And dubu," Sungjin suggested. "And mirin."

"And water," added Jae. "Just ... more water."

"If you take out the seaweed, maybe you could make jook," said Sungjin.

Wonpil looked around the table and pouted.

Daringly, under the table, Younghyun reached out and squeezed his knee.

Wonpil jumped a little, glanced at him blushingly and away. "Well, it's not for all of you, anyway," Wonpil sniffed. "You just happened to be here."

"He's channelling Jinyoung-hyung," Dowoon whispered.

Skewering his cousin with a look, Wonpil sniffed, "And what of it?"

"Breaking news: His Majesty the King of Corea," said Jae at the same time in a newscaster way, "is a brat."

"I'm twenty _-two_ ," Dowoon protested, but he didn't look like he particularly minded.

Now presumably channelling his mother, Wonpil said, "You're twenty-one here, you brat. And you'll always be my baby."

"I'm _twenty-two_ ," stressed Dowoon.

" _Ba-a-by_ ," countered Wonpil, before repeating himself in Corean.

"Eomma," Sungjin declared to thin air, while Jae cracked up on the other side of the stockpot from him. "Today I had breakfast with pyeha and Lieutenant Kang. Pyeha and Wonpil-daegam argued about whether or not pyeha was a baby. This is my lot in life now."

"You're so annoying, hyung," Wonpil told him. Pointing his spoon at Jae, he said, "And you too."

 _And me?_ Younghyun wanted to ask. _What am I_?

"Wonpil-ah," he said instead, polishing off his final spoonful. "Look, I'm all done."

Distractible _and_ successfully distracted, Wonpil turned to him, eyes flicking down to the bowls Younghyun was tilting to him for inspection and back up to meet Younghyun's gaze.

"Good." Wonpil smiled warmly, his eyes creasing. "Now you're properly a year older, or something."

"Oh yeah, happy birthday and all that," said Sungjin. "Almost forgot."

Getting up to ladle himself another bowlful of soup (and ignoring Jae's horrified inhale in the background), Younghyun grinned. Sure, he might have a meeting at the embassy in a few hours, and some sort of Christmas tea that Dowoon's department had organised to silently loom at (Agent Shin's words; not his) later, but for now ... for now he had his friends around the same table, Wonpil close by his side, and breakfast cooked especially for him.

"Yeah," said Younghyun, "I think it will be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it hasn't been ABUNDANTLY obvious by now, cpt choi is a very shoehorned shinee reference. also I haven't been able to bring myself to watch more than a supercut of that hellish seaweed soup vlive, so all I know is wonpil's eomma yelling over the phone, wonpil cry-whining, bob being the most capable mvp, and younghyun finishing two (2) bowls and showing his SPOTLESSLY CLEANED bowls to wonpil proudly. 
> 
> thanks for reading! if this made you laugh or idk crave a less salty seaweed soup, please leave a comment! or a kudos! and [do retweet](https://twitter.com/forochel/status/1369462686359187469), thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been a hard day's night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look I know this song was written when lennon was cheating on his first wife with yoko and knowing that tainted it FOREVER for me but also it's a banger

After _an entire term_ of Wonpil complaining about his horrible commute into East London, Younghyun broke and offered to drive him to work in the morning when school started up again. 

Wonpil was a member of the royal family, when all was said and done; it wouldn't be against _protocol_ for Younghyun to use an embassy car to send him to work. Also, Wonpil had to get to work early enough that Younghyun would get back in time to pick Dowoon up on the days he had morning seminars.

Younghyun had thought all of this very reasonable and his motivations unimpugnable, but then — 

"Are you _mad!_ " Wonpil cried. "IN THAT CAR???"

He flung his arm dramatically out to point at the embassy car parked on the kerb outside their front door. 

Younghyun considered it: black, sleek, solidly diplomatic, with the little mugunghwa air diffuser hung from the rear view mirror. 

"You've never had a problem with it before," he said carefully.

"Well, I mean! Yes, but —" Wonpil pressed his lips together. "Oh, never mind, I've just been spoilt by living so close by to uni. A horrible commute is just the Londoner's lot in life."

Brow furrowing, Younghyun tried again. "You could sleep a little more, this way, Wonpil-ah, and —"

Wonpil shook his head. "Thank you, but I just needed to complain."

The Christmas holidays passed all too quickly: Wonpil catching up on his sleep deprivation and happily plonking away at some pretty, light piece on the piano, Younghyun and Dowoon busy with the end-of-year appearances that Lady Ko had seen fit to stuff His Majesty's schedule full off, when he didn't have academic obligations that got in the way of her Engaging the International Public. 

"You oughtn't make such an enemy of her, hyung," said Wonpil one sleepy (for him) afternoon, when Younghyun interrupted his snacking in the kitchen. He'd been grumbling to himself while stomping down the stairs for some real food after some sort of intellectual salon the Danish ambassador had hosted. "Especially if you're going to have to work together lots. In the — in the future."

"She's not an enemy." Younghyun rummaged about in his cabinet for his stash of ramyeon. "She's just very — ugh." 

"Very?"

Grudgingly, Younghyun said, "Very good at her job."

Wonpil was silent as Younghyun found his ramyeon and banged a saucepan onto the stove, filling it with water. 

"Is it bad, that she's good at her job?" he asked, just as Younghyun was sliding the seasoning mix and noodles into the boiling water.

"No." Younghyun poked at the noodles. "Yes. It's inconvenient for _us_ , and she doesn't seem to — to take Dowoon's studies that seriously. Like, oh, pyeha's not going to do anything with it anyway, so fuck it —"

Wonpil made an unhappy noise. He was frowning, his lips pursed. "Maybe she's just not aware of how much studying a Master's requires?"

Biting down on the unkind thing he'd been about to call Lady Ko, Younghyun said, "He's been doing readings in the car on the way to things sometimes, you know."

"Ah." Wonpil sighed. "Yeah, Dowoonie mentioned. Can't _he_ say something?"

"I think he feels torn about it." Younghyun went to the fridge to get out some eggs and spring onions, found some leftover galbi from the embassy cook and pulled that out too. "I don't know. He talks to you more about ... that sort of thing, I guess." 

Out of the corner of his eye, as Younghyun made his way back to the stove, he saw Wonpil slump a little. He remembered, abruptly, Wonpil saying _And I'll worry about Dowoonie getting to be someone other than just His Majesty King Dowoonie for ... for as long as he can be_. He bit his lip.

"Sorry." Giving into cowardice, Younghyun concentrated on cracking his eggs neatly into his ramyeon. "I didn't mean to —"

"No, no. Hyung, I'd rather hear it." Wonpil was half-smiling at him when Younghyun put the lid on and gave Wonpil instead of the eggs cooking in the soup his attention. "You work so hard, having a grumble every now and then's just fair game."

Younghyun snorted. "Nothing's fair, Wonpil-ah."

"Doesn't mean we can't _try_."

And that was just the stubborn essence of Wonpil, wasn't it? That bright-eyed optimism was something he worked for.

"I don't want to bore you," said Younghyun. "And then there's just — security clearance."

"I _live_ with Dowoonie," Wonpil started, then gasped. "Hyung, look out!"

Younghyun whipped around and cursed. His ramyeon was fucking _boiling over_.

After the drama of saving his afternoon snack and inhaling half of it, Younghyun looked up. 

"I was going to say, actually, that you work hard too."

"Yes, and I complain to everyone who'll listen to me. Apparently." Wonpil was flopped over the table, an arm flung out across it, cheek nestled against his own arm. He looked warm and sleepy, as he basically had for the whole Christmas holiday: a fluffy, eminently snuggleable package. "A certain workaholic lieutenant inclusive."

The rueful smile on his face indicated that he was well aware of how much he'd bent Younghyun's ear over the past week about how little he was looking forward to going back to work and that morning commute.

"You _could_ ," Younghyun started, "always just let me —"

"No thank you," interrupted Wonpil, eyes falling shut. "None of that life for me, thank you. I haven't been driven to school ... ever and don't intend to start now."

Younghyun sighed and resigned himself to another few months of leaving the house on his morning run at the same time as Wonpil shambling to the bus stop, clutching a thermos of tea like a lifeline and entirely non-verbal. At least twice, Younghyun had had to gently steer Wonpil in the direction of the correct Tube station. 

It was a wet, grim morning in late January when Wonpil had to eat his words.

He overslept, and was stumbling down the stairs when Younghyun returned from his run. Wonpil was in such a terrible panic that Younghyun just silently went and got his car keys, before herding Wonpil bodily out the front door and to the car.

Pressing his lips together, Wonpil opened the passenger door. "Not a word." 

Younghyun mimed zipping his lips. His face would've been perfectly blank if not for the slight crinkling in the corners of his eyes. He could feel the tug of his muscles, but couldn't help it.

"Ugh." Wonpil climbed in and banged the door shut, satchel and lunch bag balanced precariously on his lap. Then, clearly thinking better of it, he tucked them between his feet in the footwell. "Music?" 

True to his mime, Younghyun nodded, and did a three point turn that had Wonpil clutching at the overhead handle. 

"Hyung! You don't drive like this with Dowoonie!" 

Speaking at last, Younghyun calmly said, "You're in a rush."

"It won't matter if I end up dead!"

"You're not going to _die_."

"Oh my god," whispered Wonpil, and leaned into the car door. "If this happens again, _I'm_ driving and you can just take the car back."

Casting Wonpil a sidelong glance, Younghyun took a hand off the steering wheel (to Wonpil's yelp of protest) and handed him the cable for his phone. 

"Music, Pilie."

"Oh, goodness," said Wonpil queasily as Younghyun overtook a car in front of them, sliding out into the lane next to them and pulling easily ahead before slotting back in ahead of the grey sedan. "Hyung, you're mad."

"I'm getting you to work on time," Younghyun countered. "Put _something_ on."

Wonpil waited until they were at a red light to lean forward and fiddle with the radio. 

There was a crackle and then the thumping, too-loud-for-0730 sounds of a Top 40 song blared out of the speakers.

"Fuck!" 

It was unclear who said it; clearly the sentiment was shared. 

"Sergeant Ok, probably," said Younghyun apologetically, while Wonpil frantically stabbed at the button and the radio flickered through voices until it settled onto the soothing tones of a BBC newscaster reporting the morning news.

Sighing with relief, Wonpil sank back into his seat. "There, better. Nothing like a bit of news to make things boring." 

Younghyun snorted. "You didn't seem bothered last year, when I picked you up at that club."

"I don't remember much from that night, let alone your driving." Fair; Younghyun wondered if Wonpil remembered cuddling into him on that pavement. He was contemplating asking, when someone was actually moved to slam their horn at a barely-legal manouevre Younghyun pulled off. "Hyung, are you causing a diplomatic incident?"

This gave Younghyun some pause. He slowed down to a more respectable 75 kilometres per hour. 

"And do you actually know where to go?" asked Wonpil, as they turned off the A road Younghyun had been weaving speedily eastward on. 

Younghyun nodded at his phone, secured on the dashboard. "I had a look while you were putting your boots on."

"Oh." Wonpil sounded strangely disappointed. 

"Did you expect me to just ... know?"

Taking a fairly telling sip of tea, Wonpil swallowed noisily. " _Well_. I wouldn't be surprised if you did."

"Your faith in me," said Younghyun drily, "is really, really disturbing."

"I should never have made you watch the films," said Wonpil dolefully. "Oh, oh, turn right up there; there's a shortcut."

For someone taking the bus or on foot, perhaps. Younghyun slowed down, nevertheless. "Are you sure?"

" _Yes_ ; Tom gave me a lift once, last term.".

Younghyun cut across two lanes, ignored Wonpil's whimper, and made the turn onto a long street, which sloped up a hill and was lined with brown-bricked terrace houses on the left, and a games field behind a tall wire fence on the right. "Right."

"English department Tom" — Wonpil shot him a sidelong glance — "on the footie team. I've told you about him before." 

"I know, the energetic ajusshi."

"He's _not_ —!" Wonpil sighed. "Well, I suppose he might be. And will be very judgemental about all this." He gestured at the car, which honestly ... didn't stand out that much, in Younghyun's opinion.

Sighing, Younghyun checked in the rear mirror before starting to overtake the truck in front of him. "Don't worry, Pilie, I'll drop you off down the street." 

"Oh," said Wonpil, staring out the window. "In for a penny, in for a pound."

But then traffic slowed and it soon became evident that all three lanes of the one-way street were backed up. 

Craning his neck, Wonpil reported, "There's construction up ahead, I think."

The car crawled forward a few inches. 

"Or some sort of police investigation going on," Wonpil announced. "I think I'll walk the rest of the way." 

"What kind of neighbourhood are you teaching in," Younghyun muttered.

Already opening the door, Wonpil crossly said, "Never you mind."

"How can I not mind?"

Wonpil half turned as he was exiting, probably to say something pert, but then from behind him came a piping voice.

"Didn't know you were posh, sir!" said a boy who was hoofing it up the pavement. "Look at that car!"

The _I told you so_ look that Wonpil gave him was, Younghyun felt, only sort of justified.

Cheekily, Wonpil's student said, "Oooooh, sir, sir, is that your boyf—"

Wonpil shut the door firmly; Younghyun wound the window down. 

"You'd better hurry up, Jenkins, or you'll be late," Wonpil was telling the boy tartly.

"So will you, sir," said Jenkins peaceably. He had a broad sort of face and large, dark eyes that lent to a general aura of cheeky unflappability. 

Younghyun couldn't help the laugh, and then the apologetic cringe when Wonpil shot him a glare. 

"Bad luck, mate," Jenkins told Younghyun through the window. 

"Get _on_ , Jenkins!" snapped Wonpil.

That was a tone that Younghyun had never heard before, from Wonpil. He unilaterally decided that retreat was in this case definitely the better part of valour.

"I'm going now, Wonpil-ah," he said in Corean to Wonpil. All he got was an exasperated, dismissing flap of Wonpil's hand.

Younghyun obediently peeled away from the kerb and swerved around the massive Land Rover that had inexplicably slowed to a crawl in the middle lane, even though the obstruction up ahead seemed to have started clearing up. 

He was back on the main road leading back into Central London when he realised he was still smiling to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the genesis of the (actually true) Rumours about Mr Kim being from an illustrious Corean family, mentioned in the —ford school newsletter in chunmyeongok.
> 
> THANKS AS ALWAYS to bysine for the fun times and you know, providing all these fun details for me to REMIX. 
> 
> I hope you had fun reading this chapter, guys! Jenkins is my actual favourite OC.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sick fic, take two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I 100% forgot to add this in the end notes for last chapter. this is when younghyun has driven, like a maniac, away:
>
>> "Oh god," said Wonpil reflexively.
>> 
>> "Your boyfriend drives like a maniac, sir."
>> 
>> Throwing his arms up in the air, Wonpil snapped, "I haven't got one -- and mind your own business!"
>> 
>> Thankfully, the bell rang then and Jenkins, suitably motivated, started running for the gate.
> 
> \--
> 
> (I love Jenkins.)

The only surprising thing was how long it had taken Younghyun to succumb to the frailties of the human body.

Well no, the other surprising thing was that this hadn't happened to him whilst he'd been studying full-time and running all over campus.

"It's important to know your limits," Sergeant Yoon said as he chivvied Younghyun to the nurse's office. "Lieutenant."

When he said _Lieutenant,_ it sounded a lot like the _Younghyun-ah_ , he'd said back when Younghyun had been young and sixteen and just broken his collarbone.

"I know my limits," muttered Younghyun, who was totally walking under his own power. He swallowed painfully. "My limit was the end of that meeting."

"Your limit was probably the end of your bed," said Sergeant Yoon drily. "Which you will be returning to, won't you, Lieutenant?"

"Do I have a choice?" Younghyun was aware that he was being very pubescently belligerent; he chose to blame it on the way he felt like the Monkey King being punished, like there was a band of metal around his temples pressing in, in, in.

"My god," murmured Nurse Oh as they entered her office, getting to her feet. "Lieutenant, sit down before you fall over."

"'m not gonna fall over," Younghyun grumbled, collapsing down on the examination bed.

The only reason Younghyun knew that Sergeant Yoon was still there was because of the hand bracing his shoulder; the room had abruptly started feeling as though it were at an angle and Younghyun had had to close his eyes. He heard the sound of water running, gloves being snapped on, and then the dull clack of sensible heels coming towards him.

"Temperature," Nurse Oh said firmly, brushing his hair up off his forehead — he hadn't had the energy to slick it back earlier that morning. "And water. Sergeant — there's a stack of bottles over there, if you would please."

The hand on Younghyun's shoulder left and was replaced by Nurse Oh's strong grip. The thermometer beeped; Nurse Oh read out his temperature and tutted. "How you're upright, I don't know."

"Spite and willpower," said Sergeant Yoon. "He had a conference call with the Lady Ko from Busan this morning."

"M'head hurts," contributed Younghyun. "And m'eyes. And throat." He sneezed, which was new and unpleasant. Sniffling made the back of the passage between his throat and nose hurt.

"Poor boy," cooed Nurse Oh, and bustled about. She was so thoroughly maternal that Younghyun couldn't find it in himself to protest. "You'll get him home safe, Sergeant?"

Younghyun wondered if he could have a nap on this miraculously comfortable examination bed before moving again.

No such luck. The good nurse poured some sort of medication down his throat, gave him a lozenge to suck on, and sent him right out of the door.

"Hyung," said Younghyun feebly as he was being loaded into a car. "I'm sorry."

"Oh my god," said a new voice - lighter and higher than Sergeant Yoon's own. Younghyun squinted his eyes open. That was possibly Sergeant Ok. "Is he dying? He can't die, Song Jeong-ah will have to actually Captain if he dies. She'll be _so annoyed_."

"Don't be dramatic, Aeri-yah," rumbled Sergeant Yoon. "The lieutenant just needs to sleep for a week. And I have to settle things here, so you're in charge of making sure he doesn't fall down and die."

"Well," said Sergeant Ok brightly, "fuck."

But she drove very sanely and smoothly all the way home while Younghyun did his best not to embarrass himself. She let him open the car door, but definitely pushed him up the front steps and through the front door into the vestibule.

"I'm okay," Younghyun tried weakly. Sergeant Ok entirely ignored him, making sure that didn't fall over and/or brain himself on any furniture.

"Sergeant," Younghyun rasped. "Just leave me in the living room. I — need to lie down."

She paused, and then peered at him, going so far as to reach up and put her hand on his forehead. Whatever it was had her hissing and shaking her head, before wholesale _hauling_ him into the living room and putting him down on the chaise longue.

"Go to sleep, sir, or I won't be responsible for what happens at drills next week," Sergeant Ok ordered.

Younghyun wondered muzzily, deliriously if this was what having a noona would've been like. He opened his mouth to say so, but the words escaped him as his body registered the fact that he was fully horizontal, on a comfortable surface, and escaped with his consciousness into oblivion.

*

Younghyun woke to the sound of hushed whispering, eyes sandy and throat clotted with grit. His head was pounding and he felt cold, so cold. But hot, also. He groaned. He hated the acid weakness sapping strength from his muscles. He was, he recognised, so fucking ill.

"Oh, Younghyun," murmured someone. "You silly ass."

He levered his eyes open. One and a half Wonpils, overlaying each other, wavered before his eyes. He tried saying hello; his eyes fell shut in the middle of saying hello.

"Oh dear," said Wonpil dolefully. And then there was a cool hand pressing against his forehead, the side of his neck. "Time for another dose, I think. Good thing the label's in English."

There was a pause, and then the hand on his neck slipped down to his shoulders, its twin joining it as Wonpil pulled Younghyun upright; Younghyun _tried_ helping, even though his muscles felt like jelly. He might, he observed giddily, be shaking.

"Up you go. God, what benighted virus _is_ this."

Younghyun made an incoherent noise, lolling against the side of chaise while Wonpil disappeared from his radius of awareness. He lifted his other hand, which felt like it weighed a tonne, to press his fingers against his throbbing temples. His eyesockets felt _hot_.

"Here." Wonpil reappeared, mug of water and a palmful of pills in hand. "Take these. It's been long enough since you went to see the nurse."

Obediently, Younghyun took the pills, let Wonpil curl his fingers around his mug, and swallowed the medicine. Gulped down the rest of the water. Croaked, "Lozenge?"

There was some rustling, and then the sound of a packet being popped, before a yellow tablet was dropped into his hand.

"Dowoonie's boiling water downstairs," Wonpil told him, fussing with a blanket that had migrated onto Younghyun at some point. Rehydrated and with whatever painkiller Nurse Oh had given him taking incredibly rapid effect, Younghyun was now realising that there were pillows from his bed now on the chaise behind his back. He put his hand to his solar plexus, which was feeling funny.

"Thanks," Younghyun managed. "Water please?"

"Well, if His Majesty would put in an appearance, you might have something nicer than a Strepsil and water," said Wonpil, straightening back up and handing Younghyun a filled bottle. "And then more sleep. Oh! You'll want more comfortable clothes, hang on —"

He was just turning to go when Dowoon stuck his head in through the door, hands full of ... things.

"Hyung," whispered Dowoon very audibly, "I brought the water and lemons ... and honey ... oh, is Younghyun-hyung awake?"

"Yes. Thanks for this, Dowoonie. Now go get his pyjamas from upstairs, please." Wonpil ordered.

Dowoon bounded away — the thumps of him running up the stairs were audible all the way to the living room.

Finishing a slightly less painful swallow of water, Younghyun hoarsely said, "The court ladies would freak out. You ordering Dowoon about."

"Someone has to," Wonpil retorted quietly. He was mixing something in the mug — and when he came back to Younghyun with it, it turned out to be full of lemony water, sweetened with honey. "I'm going to go get some towels for your forehead. Spit your lozenge out — here's a tissue. Don't die."

Younghyun leaned back into the cushions and found, to his dismay, that he was too listless to work up a smile even for Wonpil.

"Oh, hyung," said Wonpil pityingly, before bustling away.

Time stretched weirdly, Younghyun falling into a daze as he breathed and tried not to focus on the pervasive feeling of malaise, before Wonpil was back, Dowoon on his heels.

"Pyeha." Younghyun weakly gestured back towards the door. "Out."

Wonpil was silent while Dowoon swelled up indignantly. He settled a bundle of clothing down in Younghyun's lap and eyed him with a distinctly clinical look.

"Dowoonie," said Wonpil without looking back, as though he knew the sulk that Dowoon was very quickly plunging headlong into. "Get me a basin of lukewarm water, will you?"

Younghyun barely had time to marvel fuzzily at Dowoon obeying, despite the scowl on his face, before Wonpil was tugging his uniform jacket off him.

"Wha—"

"You're in no shape to change yourself," said Wonpil. "And I'm not going to be able to pick you up off the floor if you fall off the chaise."

"'M not gonna _fall_ ," Younghyun muttered rebelliously, but subsided and let Wonpil help him out of his — his clothes. He was distantly resentful that he was feeling too bad to enjoy this: Wonpil disrobing him, long elegant fingers brushing against his overheated skin, and then wrestling him into his pyjamas.

Wonpil did it all with nary a blush, was the thing, his mouth just set in a straight line and a look of deep concentration on his face.

But — "My head," Younghyun said piteously at one point in the endeavour, and everything stopped until the ache receded and he had a cool cloth put on his forehead.

It did help, Younghyun thought drowsily, as he was guided back down onto his back. It helped a lot.

*

The next time he woke up, he became aware of a hulking presence by his bedside.

"What are you doing here," Younghyun managed.

"Horangi-yah," said Sergeant Jung — and wow Younghyun hadn't heard _that_ from him in a long time. "Daegam-mama is going crazy because of you. I had to send him away. You must rest properly."

Younghyun squinted at him.

"Are you hungry?"

Younghyun shook his head, and promptly regretted it with a whimper.

"Well, you need to eat before you can have more medicine." Sergeant Jung got to his feet. "Rice porridge, from the embassy cook."

"Does everyone _know_?" asked Younghyun despairingly.

"Yes," replied Sergeant Jung. "I also brought a get-well-soon card and herbal tea. "Close your eyes, horangie. I'll be back."

It was a sign of _something_ , probably, that Younghyun almost fell asleep again in the time between Sergeant Jung leaving and coming back with a tray containing a steaming bowl and a tall glass of water.

This time, Younghyun struggled upright by himself. He really wasn't hungry — he wasn't feeling much of anything, other than achey and generally _off_. Nevertheless, he forcefed himself spoonful after shaky spoonful of porridge. Eyes on the prize: medication.

"Where's ..." Younghyun started, while taking a break from eating.

"Pyeha is in his room, studying. And Wonpil-daegam is worrying his pretty head off in the kitchen."

"Oh." Younghyun looked down at his bowl, trepidation suddenly curdling in his stomach. "Wait ... is this...?"

"No, horangi-yah, it's from the embassy cook, remember?"

"Oh. Right." Younghyun sighed, and picked his spoon back up again. "Sorry."

Sergeant Jung ducked into his field of vision, and put his hand on Younghyun's forehead. "I'll be here temporarily, so _you_ don't ... worry about security."

Right. That made sense. He should've thought of that.

"Of course." Younghyun concentrated on swallowing. "Thank you for ... thinking of it."

"It's okay. You should concentrate on getting better."

Younghyun sighed again. He fucking hated being ill.

"Trying," he said shortly, and went back to applying himself to his food.

*

Next time Younghyun regained consciousness, the sun was shining brightly in through a gap in the curtains and Sergeant Jung had been replaced.

"You're up," said Wonpil softly. "Water?"

There was water, and a plate of soft milky bread, and the various medicines for his aching head, sore throat, and running nose. Younghyun tried to indicate that Wonpil should stay far away.

"Oh, please. My immune system is strong from the constant battering of teenaged germs now." Wonpil reached across Younghyun and tugged a throw out from where it was wedged up between Younghyun's hip and the back of the chaise longue. He shook it out and put it around Younghyun's shoulders.

Younghyun gave up and leaned the weight of his head into the join of shoulder and chest, too tired to resist.

"Oh." Wonpil went still, before he softened all over. "Hyung."

 _Just a bit_ , Younghyun thought, or maybe mumbled.

Either way, he was rewarded with fingers in his hair, cool against his scalp.

"All right," Wonpil murmured. "But when Sergeant Jung is up he's hauling you upstairs for a shower. You need one."

"Mmmf," Younghyun complained. He was comfortable like this — Wonpil under him both soft and hard and just — Wonpilie.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, until a thought bubbled to the surface.

"Work?" he asked.

The hand still carding through his hair paused. "Took the day off. Family emergency, I said."

"Oh." Younghyun struggled with the thought for a bit. Gave up. Set it aside to think about later, when he was better. "Thank you."

"You'll be all right," said Wonpil, starting to drag his thumbs down the back of Younghyun's neck, like he knew exactly how tense it was getting from the ache. Or maybe it was the other way around. In any case, Younghyun groaned with relief, and then was very glad his face was hidden and he was warm from the fever anyway.

He drifted, safe in this cocoon of warmth and — and affection, and eventually fell back asleep.

*

All in all, it took Younghyun almost a full week to recover - the fever went and returned in waves and the malaise in his limbs persisted. It was disturbing, to feel so uncommonly weak.

"At least it's dark early still," Dowoon observed from the door to the sitting room.

He was still banished from it — the reasoning being that if something had managed to take Younghyun down, then doubtlessly Dowoon would get it too. Ancient precedent from their childhood had been cited, held over Dowoon's head by a very no-nonsense Sergeant Yoon.

"Thank you for your consideration, pyeha," said Younghyun grumpily.

"If you're being sarcastic, hyung, you must be feeling a lot better," Wonpil said in probably the same reproving tone he was cultivating to great effect on his students.

Younghyun, who'd had a whole shower _without assistance_ and was now eating solid food and _tasting it_ and was sitting upright reading a very boring book, sighed.

"I _am_ better," he said, and then yawned. At least now when he yawned his throat didn't pull and hurt.

"Well, you have a sick note for seven days, so you'd better take them all," Wonpil replied implacably with all the weight of the Guard behind him. "Dowoonie hasn't been abducted yet, even with you flattened."

"I liked it better when you were nice to me," grumbled Younghyun. He stuck his nose back into his very boring book.

All Wonpil did was laugh. Younghyun distinctly heard him mutter _cute_ under his breath, and sank sank behind his book, sliding down his seat. He could feel his eyelids grow heavier, his head full of sleepy fuzz. Being sick was terrible hard work, he decided drowsily, closing his eyes for just a little break. Before the last vestigious of consciousness fled him — he felt cool hands smoothing through his hair and taking the book away from him, a blanket drawn over his shoulders, and then he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a very recent addition to the outline, triggered by bysine making some sort of throwaway comment about how younghyun takes care of wonpil's physical...wellbeing & wonpil took care of "younghyun's emotional constipation". I decided that things shouldn't be that neat.
> 
> thanks as always for reading, if you've ... made through all 100k+ of this soap opera so far! please let me know what you feel/think/whatever! & here is [the publicity tweet](https://twitter.com/forochel/status/1371993761107091457), if you'd like to retweet it.


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